Be My Superman
by Fly Airbourne
Summary: Mike has a hard time showing the world himself so he hides behind the Miz. But John wants to draw him out of his cocoon of safety. SLASH! MIZENA
1. Chapter 1

Title: Be My Superman

Author: Candy_rko

Pairings: John/Mike

Summary: Mike has a hard time showing the world himself so he hides behind the Miz. But John wants to draw him out of his cocoon of safety.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me

Author's Notes: VERY short but only because this a tester chapter. I'm not sure how this is going to go over… Let me know. Please and thank you! :- )

_-There's something about you,_

_I want to rescue._

_I don't even know you,_

_So what does that mean?_

_Maybe I'm cynical,_

_Painfully logical,_

_Tragic and beautiful,_

_That's good enough for me._

_Looking for a hero_

_But it's just my old tattoo._

_Tonight I swear I'd sell my soul,_

_To be a hero for you._

_Who's gonna save you,_

_When the starts fall from your sky?_

_And who's gonna pull you in the tide gets to high?_

_Who's gonna hold you when you turn out the light?_

_I won't lie,_

_I wish that I,_

_Could be your superman tonight-_

Chapter 1/?

His mouth was dry, staring into the furious blue eyes of John Cena.

"What the fuck was that about? I thought our little feud was _over?_" John seethed, the hands on Mike's shoulders digging into the tanned flesh, leaving imprints behind. "Huh, _Mike_? You think I don't have enough shit goin' on without your stickin' your nose where it don't fuckin' belong?"

"Maybe I'm not the only one that's getting sick and tired of you always being the face of the WWE. I'm not alone in wanting you to be knocked down a few pegs," Mike's tone as cool and calm; the exact opposite of how he was trembling on the inside. "Batitsta's the only that's had the balls to do it." "Is that so?" John sneered, "So you've suddenly developed a back bone because someone bigger's shown their ass to the world?"

"Hey, I proved I wasn't some punk bitch that was going to take it lying down from the great John Cena," Mike hissed, emotions at war with each other. Part of him wanted to run away and hide, the other half wanted to confront John Cena head on despite the collision. "I proved it to _everyone_. Everyone but _you._"

"You came out here for _weeks,_ Mizanin. Paradin' your ass around like some showboatin' poodle, insultin' me. I retaliated and _you_ weren't man enough to stick to it. Our rivalry's fizzled out and been buried for a long time. Why are you bringin' all this shit up now?"

John's hold on him loosened, the feeling returning to Mike's limbs. "I told you. If Batista can do it, I can-"

"That's where you're wrong," John shook his head, stepping back, massive arms crossing in front of his chest. "Batista's been in the business years longer than you, kid. He's the only one other than Shawn, Mark, and Paul that have the right to go after with me a vendetta. And you, baby face Mike Mizanin, a reality show has been, thinks you can upstage the Animal at his game. You've lost before it's even happened."

_That_ stung. All Mike had ever wanted from John Cena was his approval. To be seen as an equal but John had never given him the time of day. And fuck if Mike hadn't sported a serious crush on the older man when he'd first debuted on Raw and met the man. That was quickly destroyed once the illusion of John Cena was shattered. "You think I want to do this in front of millions of people? No, I'm more then happy with doing this back stage."

A shadow fell across the handsome face and Mike _almost_ fled. "Oh really?"

"_Really._"

"I'm not goin' to fight you."

Mike chuckled, hysteria beginning to mount. He was a goddamned moron for provoking John Cena like this. "I don't want a fight either. I want you on your knees, _begging _me."

A brow rose. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Don't act so self righteous. I know all about your dirty little past with Orton," Mike scoffed, wondering what _anyone_ could see in Randy Orton other than his godly good looks. "So lay off the I'm straight act. I want you underneath me, Cena, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

John chuckled. "You're not the first man that's demanded me on my back. But there's one problem. I only get on my back for men that have my respect and so far, you haven't earned it. You're an egotistical bastard that's slept his way to the top. At least, that's what the rumors say."

Mike's ice blue eyes narrowed at the accusation. No, Mike had spent _years_ making it to where he was, busting his ass, hoping to get noticed. He didn't spread his legs for _anyone_ to get where he was. It was God given talent. "Whatever makes you sleep at night, Cena."

"But you know, I don't think you'd be so bad if you pulled the stick outta your ass and let the Miz take a back seat to Mike," John's verbal arrow lodged painfully in Mike's heart. How… "You're hot. I'll give you that. You're probably one of the hottest pieces of ass on the either roster. But that personality of yours could use a make over. What happened to that kid I met years ago?"

_The Miz ate him, _Mike thought darkly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

John's smile was sad, fond even, "The one that stuttered and blushed when I introduced myself? He's there," John gently touched Mike's chest, just above Mike's rapidly beating heart. "Somewhere. When you let Mike out to play, come find me. Cuz, I sorta had a crush on him."

Mike's jaw dropped, watching as John grabbed his bag from the floor and walked towards the door of his private dressing room. "Oh, and Miz, you can drop this feud shit. I don't have the patience for head games."

With that, John Cena left, leaving Mike a confused mess.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Be My Superman

Author: Candy_rko

Pairings: John/Mike

Summary: Mike has a hard time showing the world himself so he hides behind the Miz. But John wants to draw him out of his cocoon of safety.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me

Words: 1500

Author's Notes: I'm shocked you liked it. Yay. I love, love Mizena. Of course, I'm a slut for most pairings in the WWE universe. :-P

Chapter 2/?

_When you let Mike out to play, come find me. Cuz, I sorta had a crush on him._

John's words repeated themselves over and over in Mike's head like a mantra until it was all he could think about. THE John Cena had admitted to _liking_ Mike. Mike, who'd had few friends on Raw and the enmity between him and other wrestlers had been all too apparent his first day with them. Either he was ignored, jeered, or was openly hostile with. But not John Cena. And Mike had been shocked that the Champ had gone out of his way to be friendly with him.

***

_"You ok? Nervous?"_

_ Mike turns his back from gazing at the screen, watching the action in the ring through unfocused eyes. He nearly drops the sparkly fedora that's been rotating around in his palm for the past ten minutes as he stares into the cobalt blue eyes of John Cena. His pulse quickens and his heart pounds furiously against his chest until he's so sure the other man can hear it. But John doesn't notice. All Mike can do is nod, his cheeks warming underneath John's gaze. Even though he's been in the business and been around the top names, he still gets star struck and tongue tied around John Cena. The man's just charismatic and Mike's drawn to him like a moth to a flame._

_ "You don't have to be. You've got real skills. You've managed to impress me," a teasing wink and that insanely gorgeous dimpled grin makes Mike's stomach knot painfully. "I'm John Cena," he says, extending his hand towards Mike._

_ "I…I know," he stutters, cursing himself, his ears even burning. He can't remember a time when he's been that embarrassed. "I'm Mike." He looks at the hand stretched out in front of him and he wants to shake it but his palm's sweaty and he doesn't want the other man to know how he affects him. _

_ "I don't have cooties, ya know?"_

_ "R…right, sorry," Mike ducks his head sheepishly before sliding his hand into John's and he knows that John can feel his rapid heart beat, feel the sweat, but he doesn't say anything, just grins that famous grin of his. "I have to get ready for my match."_

_ "Good luck. I'll be watchin'." Another wink and John Cena leaves with Mike staring after him and Mike can't decided if the magnetic pull to Cena's a good thing or a bad thing…_

_ ***_

He'd been such a fool back then, taken in by pretty promises and the wool had been pulled over his eyes numerous times. He'd learned to harden himself, to make himself invincible to emotions that assaulted so many other stars. He'd seen it time and time again with Rhodes and Orton. Hell, he'd seen it with himself and Morrison. He wasn't going through it again. So he'd turned on the Miz, tucking Mike into a protective shield that kept him from getting hurt.

The Miz was an asshole. Everyone knew it. The other wrestlers knew it. The fans knew it. And he hid behind that persona. Oh, he was hated by the general populace despite his 'Mizfits.' But anything to keep himself safe. He supposed he was emulating Chris Jericho. Show the world one face while keeping the other in private. Sometimes, that was the only way to make it through the day. Turn on his 'I'm Awesome' banter in the ring and be Mike Mizanin from Cleveland, Ohio at night.

And of course, he'd had to go and fall in love with the most unattainable man around. John Cena. Because it was love. Sure, there was the domination aspect of it that Mike- The Miz- craved. Buried underneath the need to assert his control was an emotional attachment to John that Mike had only ever experienced once and that was with Morrison. There was no denying how Mike felt for Cena. The man was damn handsome, funny as hell with a quick wit, compassionate to a fault, laid back, and a million other things that Mike found attractive.

But this was THE John Cena. The man had enough adoring fans that he could have a harem and there was enough idolization from their fellow Superstars and Divas that there was no chance in Hell that Cena would look at Mike twice. Not with women like Barbie chasing him with her tongue hanging out or Ryder practically salivating over him every chance he got. Mike knew he wasn't an ogre but he was positive he wasn't enough to satisfy John Cena. He hadn't been enough for Morrison and Morrison paled in comparison to Cena.

So Miz had started the feud. If the only way he could get the attention he craved was through hate, then so be it. It had worked. He still remembered how it felt to have John's hands on him. But their feud faded to the background and Creative was finished with that angle. Instead, Mike was Unified Tag Team Champions with Big Show and the United States Champion. He'd ditched the sparkly shorts, the fedora, and the dark hair with the lavender faux-hawk. It was better for his career to stay away from John Cena. He was going places he'd never dreamed of. The MIZ. Not Mike.

No, Mike wouldn't have feuded with John. He would've done something stupid like court him. Taken him out on dates. Wooed him with gifts. And probably risked a black eye for his efforts. And Mike would seriously not be holding so many belts. He wouldn't have had the balls to do it, to just go out there and _take_ it. Mike would have gone into the ring every night that John got the shit beat out of him, even though it wasn't sticking to kayfabe, even though it was partly scripted (because everyone _knew_ that Batista had a personal beef with John), and went to his aid. The Miz sat back with Rhodes and Orton and laughed at Cena's demise.

"At least you're awake."

Mike raised his eyes to see Jake, smiling at little at the massive blonde. "Hey."

"You done pouting?"

"Who ways I'm pouting?" Mike asked, pretending to be affronted. Mike could count on two fingers the number of people that he allowed past the barriers. Jake Hager and Evan Bourne, two fellow ECW rookies that had been with him since the start, that had been there during his disastrous break up with Morrison.

"You _locked_ yourself in here," Evan scowled, poking his head inside Mike's hotel room, "I had to bribe the girl at the desk for a spare key."

"Evan, you took off your shirt," Jake rolled cornflower blue eyes, "That's not much of a bribe."

Mike drowned out their bickering. The two argued like an old married couple.

_When you let Mike out to play, come find me. Cuz, I sorta had a crush on him._

Self-preservation had become Mike's way of life. And he wasn't positive if he could just forego that in order to chase after John. He'd forgotten what it was like to be Mike all the time, to not hide behind the façade of the Miz. And what if John was deluded? What if he didn't _really_ want Mike once he got to know him? Mike would end up with another broken heart and another shattered dream. He didn't think he could take it. Not again.

"Dude! Oh my God! You'll never guess who's screwing."

Mike raised a brow at Evan's enthusiasm. "Do I want to know?"

"Christian and the Million Dollar Brat!"

Mike laughed, listening to both Evan and Jake protest what Dibiase Jr had that Jason Reso could have possibly wanted. Mike had _almost_ gone after Ted. Ted was much like him. Showing the world that he was a jerk but being one of the most caring men around. At least, that was until Mike had decided that Ted was ultimately the straightest arrow in the quiver. Apparently not. But it wouldn't have been fair to Dibiase. John consumed his heart.

"Anyways," Evan frowned, "We're heading to the gym. You with?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Good because you being all emo kid, not cool!"

Mike grabbed his bag that had his wrestling attire and his gym bag, following behind his two friends. Maybe with any luck, he'd drop a weight on his head. At least he wouldn't have to think about his current dilemma.

To go after John or not.

To be himself or to let the Miz rule his actions and words.

He was tired of being alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Be My Superman

Author: Candy_rko

Pairings: John/Mike Mizena!

Summary: Mike hides behinds the Miz. John wants to draw Mike out of his cocoon of safety

Words: 1800

Warnings: Nothing yet but there will be…. ;) Come on, it's me! XD

Disclaimers: All belongs to the WWE and Vince McMahon

Author's Notes: I'm glad you all are loving this as much as me! 3 Oh, and this takes place on 3/8 Raw

**Chapter 3**

Mike _almost _did it.

He was three seconds from fucking kayfabe and running out there to John. Because he didn't like how John's back hit the mat. John was an amazing actor but Mike wasn't imagining the real pain etched in those blue eyes of his. It was seriously pissing Mike off to the point that he was pacing backstage in his dressing room, Evan and Jake looking at him as if he'd lost his damn mind.

Maybe he had.

A sane man wouldn't have two personalities.

A sane man wouldn't chase after a dream.

The referees 'forced' Batista off of John, everyone making a damn show out of it. Mike ignored his own aching body, still reeling from his match against Morrison and R-Truth. His ex hadn't been lenient on him and Mike doubted Ron even knew _why_ his tag team partner was using actual strength behind his attacks on the Miz. But it was nothing compared to what John Cena's body must be feeling at the moment. Mike doubted that the others had meant to hurt John and Mike would have to begrudgingly respect Mark for not obeying McMahon's orders.

But when the Animal came out… When he speared Mark and turned his focus on John… Mike's stomach had leapt to his throat. The Miz had sat there calmly without batting an eye. Mike wasn't sure how much longer he could keep doing this. The mirror would eventually crack and what would be left but pieces of a shattered heart and a shattered mind? So many years playing the same part took its toll on a man's psyche and his soul.

"Mike?"

The door slammed behind him.

There were whispers and points but he didn't give a damn. All he cared about was getting to John. It was so stupid and he knew he was going to make an ass of himself but all that mattered was John. He waded through the wrestlers, stage hands, and other personnel heading towards the stage, waiting for John to come back in. Mike glanced around. He grimly noted that Batista was long gone; the Miz had wanted to give the bastard a piece of his mind.

John was walking by himself though a few paramedics hovered next to him, looking unsure about what to do. He was masking the pain behind his famous grin but Mike didn't believe it. Not when those beautiful eyes were telling a different story. Barbie, Eve, and the Bella twins were there to greet John, cooing over him, and it was in that moment that Mike was glad he had the Miz to rely on. "Wow, I guess you won't be happy until you've slept with everyone on the roster," Miz's mocking voice broke through the chatter. Mike was oblivious to the glares.

"If you've come to gloat, save it," Barbie snapped, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, "And I wouldn't touch _you_ with a ten foot pole."

Brie and Nikki nodded in agreement, "Dirty fag," Eve muttered underneath breath but Mike heard. And John heard.

"Oh honey, if you only knew _half_ the things I know. Like, I made your boyfriend squeal like a little girl," he shot a mocking grin at Eve, the brunette's jaw dropping at Mike's audacity. "Yeah. I went there. Now go fuck off, bitches."

Mike gave the four of them the cold shoulder, turning to a gaping John. "You coming with me?"

"Yeah, sure, man."

Mike got a sick thrill of victory at the four women's shock.

They didn't turn down the hall towards Mike's room-Mike didn't want to listen to Evan and Jake. He glanced at John, "Are you ok?" he managed to ask, butterflies fluttering whimsically in his stomach.

"I feel like a I ran into a brick wall," John said dryly. "He wasn't holdin' back."

"What'd you do to him?"

John shrugged, wincing, "I guess he didn't like my status. I don't wanna talk about Dave Batista if that's alright with you."

Mike nodded, following John into his private room. "I didn't mean to step over any lines out there. I just… I knew it if was _me_, I wouldn't want everyone looking at me like I'm some sort of circus freak or mother henning. I probably pissed everyone off and as soon as I get out there they're going to have my head. You know, let them eat cake and all that and I-" Mike immediately closed his mouth, John's face just inches from his.

"Mike, thanks."

No Miz or Mizanin. But Mike. Mike always tended to ramble when he lost his cool and John Cena was the core cause of his meltdowns; they'd happened more frequently earlier on. "Yeah, uh, you're welcome."

John's palm was cupping his chin and Mike was _knew_ his heart was going to explode underneath the strain. "Why do you hide, Mike? This… This is so much better than that asshole you front as all the time."

"John…" Mike licked his lips; they were dry. Just like his mouth.

"Who hurt you?"

"I… I have to go!"

"Mike!"

And just like that, Mike Mizanin ran out on John Cena.

Too afraid to be himself.

Too afraid to be hurt again.

****

The pulsating bass of the club and techno lights did nothing for Mike's mood. It only intensified his migraine to the point that he had to press his fingers against his temples and shove his sunglasses over his eyes. He sank into the booth, idly watching Evan and Jake dance with a group of women. But honestly, the two men only had eyes for each other. It was a bittersweet romance that Mike had seen developing between his two best friends. It was disheartening and depressing for him. He always felt like the third wheel.

He sighed, the beer in front of him not appealing. His stomach was churning as it was and drowning himself in booze wasn't the answer to his problems. No, the answer was John Cena. And Mike had bolted like a scared mouse the second real feelings were being revealed, the second that Mike had to be simply _Mike._ And now John probably wouldn't speak to him again. It sucked, to put it mildly.

"Mikey."

It was that voice.

He looked into the dancing brown eyes of John Morrison, the man already three sheets the wind. The tee-shirt molded to his perfectly sculpted upper body like a second skin. Dark wash jeans snugly fit his ass and cupped his groin in a way that had Mike's own hardening involuntarily. The Shaman of Sexy was on the prowl; man or woman, it didn't matter. Morrison could have any one he wanted. As he'd proved time and time again while he'd been with Mike. "Go away."

"Aww," Morrison pouted, sliding in next to him. "What's wrong, baby?"

"I said, go away," Mike gritted, inhaling the musky scent of other man, loathing how his body reacted to having his ex so fucking close to him. "And I'm not your baby."

"Sweetheart, you can try the whole I'm the big bad Miz on other people but not me. I know you. Intimately," he rolled the word off his tongue like it was candy. "Or do you need reminding of how much you loved it with me? You always _begged_ me, Mikey. For more and more. Always."

"You cheated on me, you asshole. Don't touch me!" Mike snapped, grabbing Morrison's hand mid air. "Just leave me alone."

"I hadn't felt your skin against mine in so long," Morrison ignored him, practically sitting in Mike's lap. "I'd forgot your smell. Your taste. The looks you gave me. Give us another try, Mike."

Months ago, Mike would have been at Morrison's feet, kissing them, thanking him for taking Mike back. Not now. "I hate you." God, with every fiber of his being he meant it.

"You don't mean that. You're just confused. I know it happens so easily, Mikey, but you don't have to have brains. You're hot, my Demon of Desire."

The constant belittling had gotten to Mike. Always being put down, always being insulted, always being told he wasn't good enough. Mike had blurred the lines of truth and lies until he'd actually believed every word that came out of Morrison's mouth. "I'm not your demon. I'm not _yours_. Period. Get the hell outta my face."

"Let's go."

"Hey-"

Mike's arm was nearly jerked out of socket as Morrison dragged him from the booth and through the throngs of sweaty bodies. The pain in his head was beginning to throb incessantly. His vision was beginning to fade. He didn't have the strength to resist Morrison throwing him up against the wall in the bathroom. Didn't have the strength to fend him off when his lips descended on his own. He didn't struggle when his pants were lowered to his thighs. "Don't scream, baby."

Suddenly, Morrison's weight was off him. He collapsed heavily against the wall, holding his head in his hands. He faintly heard a fist land with a sickening thud against flesh and Mike really hoped his savior hadn't been knocked out; Morrison had a nasty temper. He felt his pants being zipped and he blurrily opened his eyes to see the outline of the one man he hadn't expected to see that night. "John?"

"You better be worth all this trouble," John Cena was muttering and something cold was pressed against the back of Mike's neck. "You're damn lucky that I saw Morrison take off with you. Did he drug you? Slip something in your drink? Why didn't you fight him off?"

"Migraine," he seethed through clenched teeth. Goddamn, he hated migraines.

"Alright. Come on. I'm takin' you back to the hotel."

A tender arm was wrapped around his waist. Mike gratefully leaned his weight on John, knowing he could take the full brunt of it. He risked a glance at John through half lidded eyes, the older man smiling at him with a grin that Mike had never seen before. It was warm, kind, loving, and so open that Mike knew he was imagining it. It was the migraine warping his vision.

Because John Cena and Mike Mizanin was just a romance for fairy tales and little girls.

Not for reality.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Be My Superman**

**Author: Candy_rko**

**Pairings: John/Mike**

**Summary: Mike hides behind the Miz. John wants to know the real Mike.**

**Words: **

**Disclaimers: All belongs to the WWE and McMahon**

**Author's Notes: Thanks for being patient and enjoy this chapter! Please and thank you. :- ) **

**This also follows the storyline that's going on now so excuse that it's jumped ahead a few weeks. I'll probably write a different chapter each Monday so I can stick with what's going on.**

**Chapter 4**

An alarm clock blaring and the smell of coffee was what ultimately woke Mike up. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for the pain of his migraine to lance through his head but thankfully nothing. He heard a few muttered curses before the annoying trill of music was shut off. Last night came back to him. Morrison being his usual drunk, horny, demanding self. And his knight. John Cena. John Cena, who should've been with some ring bunny, not being Mike's saving grace.

"Hey, how you feelin'?" John asked, coming to squat on the bed beside Mike, handing him a water bottle and Excedrin that he accepted gratefully. "You passed out as soon as we got back."

Mike looked around, realizing that he wasn't in his room.

It was John's.

John's bed. Mike's closed his eyes, inhaling the scent on the pillow. Gilette. Of course the man used what he promoted. He smiled wanly, face hidden. Thankful because it was probably red. "You didn't have to take care of me."

"And leave you to the wolves? I don't think so."

Mike sighed, sitting up in the bed, blushing a little when he noticed his clothes were off except for his boxer briefs. He didn't remember doing it so that meant John had been the good Samaritan. It was embarrassing. "You could've taken me to my _own_ room. I didn't need a babysitter. I get migraines sometimes. I know how to deal with them."

"Yeah, not from where I was sittin'," John scowled. "Morrison was- You know what, I don't wanna talk about what he was about to do to you. You got history with him, I know, but you should press charges."

Mike laughed hollowly, "I used to let him fuck him. Why should I press charges?"

"…I…You were together?" John asked thickly.

"Yeah. It's a really long story. And I'm going back to my own room to take a nap in my own bed." Mike grabbed his clothes that were folded neatly on the end table by the bed, systematically putting them on. "But thanks."

John was _right there in front _of him. "You runnin' again?"

"I can't play games with you," Mike said softly, wanting desperately to have the man's arms around him, to press his face against John's chest, to…

"No games. You were the only one I saw last night. I didn't expect to see you there. But I was really happy. I thought, man, I'm finally seeing Mike. And then you left. Kinda hurt my ego, ya know?" John smiled wanly. "Are you that afraid that you're gonna keep runnin' from me every time I get too close? Because," John's breath was ghosting Mike's face and he could smell caramel and coffee and the faintest aroma of doughnuts, of all things, "Now's a good time."

"What-"

Soft lips were against Mike's and he found himself drowning in cobalt blue eyes, unable to respond, unable to do anything. But John felt so good against him, could feel the muscles pressing temptingly against him. A hesitant tongue flicked against Mike's, all tenseness fading from Mike's body as he melted into John's arms. It was slow and beautiful and everything that Mike had ever expected from the first kiss with John Cena that he'd fantasized about. A hard cock was rubbing insistently against Mike's thigh, their tongues dueling for dominance, and the moan Mike made couldn't have been stopped even if he'd wanted to because this was-

"No," Mike protested weakly, lips barely brushing John's, hating to see the disappointment in John's eyes. "We can't do this. We, I'm… John, I-"

"He really fucked you up, didn't he?" John shook his head, sighing, "Did he change the way you think about relationships? About love? What's goin' on in your head, Mike, because I gotta tell you, it's hard to read all these mixed signals. I don't know what you want from me."

"I don't know either," he laughed hollowly, "Patience, maybe? I don't except you to wait on me, John, because I know I wouldn't. I'm not worth it. Not with the shit that's happened in my past. And… really, there are others that would keep you happy. I don't want to drag you down into the insanity that's my life." This shouldn't have hurt. "It's not a nice place to be."

"I'll make that call," John's hand was caressing his face, Mike forcing himself to not lean into the touch, "Besides you have to be insane to be sane, right?"

Mike laughed, icy exterior melting underneath the soothing comfort of John Cena. "I guess so. What's scary is I know exactly what that means. Thanks, John."

"I wasn't lying. I said I'd wait on you and I will. I won't like seein' everyone all over you," John scowled, "But I'll live with it. And I'll probably get pissed when you get manhandled in the ring and maybe a little jealous of Paul-" Mike blanched at the images in his head- "But I'll be there. To put you back together, to play nurse when you get a migraine, a shoulder to lean on when you're havin' a rough day, anything that you want me to be."

What terrified Mike was that he believed every word that John spoke. John Cena wasn't a man to make weak promises. He lived by his own unique code that Mike would probably never fully grasp, never fully appreciate. Mike's flight or fight instincts made him wary about John. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to give you _me_," the Miz said, stepping back from the hold, the warmth fading fast. "I should get to the gym. I'll see you later?"

John nodded, his lips pursed, brim of his cap shadowing his eyes.

Mike briefly wondered if John had slept with his ex; few could resist the charms of John Morrison. The list was long. Friendships had been ruined because everyone wanted a piece of the Shaman of Sexy. Mike could vividly remember the men and women that he walked in on with Morrison. Some were nameless faces, anonymous fucks that Morrison had picked up in local bars and clubs, some were ring bunnies, others stage hands. The ones that really burned were the other wrestlers. Because they'd known that Morrison was with Mike and yet they still fucked his boyfriend. The betrayal had been torture for him.

"I didn't."

"What?"

John smiled wanly, "Have sex with Morrison. When you're not hiding, you're pretty easy to read. And when you're thinking about Morrison, your eyes are so far away, like you're lost in the memories."

"You're poetic this morning," Mike retorted, "I'm not ready to get into that bastard and what he did. I mean, there are times that my heart's too dark to care, you know? If I'm alone… There's no chance of anyone being hurt. Johnny was my light. I was- I have to go. I'm sorry. I'm not ready."

"It's fine. I told you. I'm not going anywhere. Sorry, baby, but you're stuck with me."

Mike ignored how his cheeks flared at John's open honesty. He was torn between leaving and staying. He wanted to let John know, wanted to tell him all of his past… He wanted to have John hold him and tell him that he wasn't some dirty whore, that Morrison was wrong about him. He wanted John to love him because of not only his appearance but his brain too. Something that Morrison hadn't done. And he was fucking terrified that John would hate him too once he actually got to know him. Because it had been imbedded in his mind by Morrison, by other exes, that he was nothing more than a sex toy. That he couldn't offer anything substantial. That no one would ever love him. And he'd believed it, day in and day out, that it was true.

He glanced at John as he grabbed his effects from the table near the door, "Meet you for lunch later?" Because maybe, just maybe, John Cena could be the one to prove them wrong.

The kilowatt smile that John shot him made his heart skip several beats, "Alright. Call me when you get done?"

"Sure. Definitely."

Mike closed the door softly behind him, taking out his phone to call Evan for a ride to 24 Hour Fitness. "Hey, man, you busy?" he asked, heading towards the elevator.

"Never busy for you, Mikey! What's up? You ok? And you know what, you mother fucker, you left without telling me. I was worried. And I saw Morrison with this huge shiner and-"

"Evan… Please? I'll tell you later."

"Yeah, ok. You better."

"You want to work out for a while? Bring Jake too."

"We'll be down in five minutes. Just have to get dressed."

Mike could faintly hear Jake protesting in the back ground and he silently congratulated them as he hung up. As the doors opened, he looked back at John's room, smiling.

Maybe John Cena could be his Superman.

JC&MM

"So, you gonna tell us are you keeping it to yourself? You've always been such a bitch," Evan scowled, finishing up his set of bicep curls, "What happened last night between you and the Shaman of Whores?"

Mike laid a towel across the back of his neck, both Evan and Jake patiently waiting for him to continue. He chuckled, noticing the Heavyweight Belt was resting almost reverently on top of Jake's duffel bag, the gold catching the light in the sun filtering through the windows. "Did you fuck him with it on?"

"Yeah, my jizz ith all over it," Jake winked cheerfully at Evan.

"What's it like, having that around your waist?" Mike's own belts were in a suitcase in his room. But this was a big deal for Jake. He hadn't held many titles since he'd being with the WWE and even though it was part of the story and that he would ultimately be losing his belt, he was proud of his friend.

"You're avoiding the question, Michael," Evan said, dark eyes narrowed in exasperation.

"I know."

"Not gonna work, buddy," Jake sank down on one of the benches, waiting for Mike to continue, Evan flopping down on Jake's lap. The Children of the Corn looks were unnerving.

"I've been… I'm…" God, it was hard to even talk to his best friends about it. They knew him better than anyone and had never judged him. If it hadn't been for them… Suicide had been promising back then. "I love John Cena."

"So, that's why you left? Because you wanted to make sure he was okay? You chose the most unattainable man in the business!"

"He said he'd wait on me," Mike said softly, still able to feel John's body pressed against him, the taste of him, his lips, his- "I trust him."

Evan sighed, "Are you sure you love him? That it isn't just let's fuck kinda thing?"

"It's love."

"Are you _sure_? Because Glitter Butt screwed you up."

"Gee, thanks, Ev," Mike frowned, "I appreciate being told I'm a basket case. Never mind. I'm sorry I even opened my mouth. I figured out of everyone that you'd accept this. That you'd be happy that I'm finally moving on."

"I am!" Evan protested, rising to stand in front of Mike, "But I don't want you setting yourself up for something that-"

"Am I not _worthy_ of John Cena? That it, Evan? No, don't fucking touch me!" Mike snapped, "Fuck you!"

"Mike!" Jake hissed, "He's being your friend. Trying to look out for you."

Mike's ire simmered, gazing at Evan's frown. "I'm sorry, Evan. I'm being a jerk. You're just being my friend. Something I'm failing at right now. Forgive me?"

"I always do, asshole," Evan rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Mike's neck, "But if this is what you want then I say go for it. I don't really know John but if he makes you happy, makes you forget about stupid Glitter Butt then I think you should show John just how amazing Mike Mizanin is."

"You think he'll, you know, still want me?"

"You're…stupid."

Mike shrugged, grabbing his Ipod and heading towards the treadmill.

He'd just gotten the support of his closest friends, the two that had been with him since ECW, had come to RAW with him. To Mike, that was a confidence boost to his low self esteem.

And honestly, he was eagerly anticipating lunch with John.

Because that would make or break it for their 'relationship.'

About how John accepted _him. _


End file.
